


Over Her Shoulder

by lunchinanelevator



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchinanelevator/pseuds/lunchinanelevator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in the interstices of the S11 episode "Perverted," following Olivia and Alex around the edges. Established A/O.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are ever so welcome!

1.

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose as she put down the brief. She was starting to think she shouldn’t even have bothered fighting Olivia’s request. Another department sounded glorious--like there would be space to breathe, not to think about the constant trauma, and she wouldn’t see her girlfriend’s—-her ex-girlfriend’s? she wasn’t even sure--name in every file that came across her desk.

It had been weeks since Alex and Olivia had spoken outside of a professional context, the Nikki Sherman case still shadowing their every move. Olivia sent Elliot to request a warrant whenever she could, and when they had no choice but to meet—in Alex’s office, in the 1-6, in court—Olivia’s eyes brushed over her. The fact that Sam Baylor was now in prison, that it was Alex who had put him there, didn’t seem to make a difference to Olivia. The last time Alex had seen her was two days ago, when she had shown up with a pocket full of tissues and her nose dripping, eyes glazed and feverish, to request a search warrant for a kiddie pornographer’s apartment. She had seemed shaky on her feet, grasping unobtrusively at the edge of Alex’s desk, and Alex ached to take care of her. For once the warrant made sense, probable cause in place without Alex having to demand it; she signed and couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch Olivia’s hand.

“I’ll come over later,” she heard herself saying. “Bring you some soup.”

Olivia stared out the window above her head. “I’m fine.”

“Whatever you are, it isn’t fine.”

“Just need to rest. Don’t worry about it, Counselor.” She was out the door before Alex even felt the sting of the appellation.

She had messed up during the Sherman case, she knew it, cracking under the pressure of the state bar investigation. But Olivia had gone behind her back, over her head, and she kept punishing Alex instead of talking to her—and really, Alex could have used her support during that investigation, just an hour or two of her girlfriend’s goddamn time. Alex pushed the brief aside with unnecessary ferocity and stared at the clock, counting down the hours left in the day.

The phone rang. “Cabot.”

“Alex.”

Elliot Stabler’s voice was tense, shaky, and Alex’s heart jumped to her throat. “What?”

It had to be about Olivia. The fear that lurked inside every cop’s lover seized Alex’s veins. Liv had been hurt. Or worse. While Alex was angry with her. She’d been stalked, it had been going on for weeks, and she hadn’t even bothered to let Alex know. She’d had to draw her gun but the perp had been quicker and—

Alex tried to still her mind. “Elliot, what’s going on?”

“Listen, Alex. You know about—Liv’s been telling you about all this B.S. with the Vandyne case?”

“She hasn’t told me anything,” said Alex, a little curtly. First he scared the crap out of her, now he reminded her of Olivia’s silence? “Is it something I should know?”

“Yeah, now it is,” said Elliot quietly. “It’s something you should know.”


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Olivia didn’t even know how many hours had passed, her head fallen back against the damp brick wall, handcuffs clinking on the pipe as she shifted her weight. Between her stuffed nose and the bile rising in her throat she was finding it difficult to breathe, and she struggled to suppress the panic attack that she’d been holding back since she was strip-searched at intake. Ellen Wiseman, the attorney from the union, would be arriving soon, but Olivia didn’t need a lawyer to tell her she was screwed.

There was a woman cuffed to another bench a few feet away—-someone else who’d be in danger in the bullpen, Olivia guessed. She wondered idly what the woman had done, realizing that she already assumed her guilty.

She was in the Tombs. Where she had sent countless perps over a dozen years. Tucker, ever brusque, ever nasty, had passed her to the bored, suspicious officers on duty—-she was a murderer, another dirty cop. Tucker’s voice echoed in her head: “Because you wanted to be caught.” She’d been pushed through dirty and labyrinthine hallways, dark and rancid rooms, with the officers booking and printing and searching her impassively; already she wasn’t one of them anymore.

The fierce buzz and the sound of the cell door opening made Olivia’s pulse quicken in alarm. She kept her eyes closed, but felt someone stop in front of her. “I always thought it’d be your partner I’d find in here one day,” said a snake-oil salesman’s voice.

“Keep walking, Langan.” She thought of all the times that she and Elliot and Alex had discussed over beers their disgust with Trevor Langan, with his uncanny affinity for the scum of the earth. Having him see her here was too much. She broke eye contact and struggled to keep her voice under control. “Wouldn’t want to keep one of your skel clients waiting.”

When Langan told her he was here to represent her, his retainer paid by “concerned friends,” Olivia’s mind rushed. Who among her friends could possibly afford Trevor Langan?

Alex. It had to be. Alex must have seen the case file, the privilege of an ADA, and if she’d bothered to buy an attorney like Langan for Olivia, it had to look bad. Alex, Olivia thought, must believe what Tucker believed—that the cruelty and pressure of the job had become too much for Olivia, that she had broken at last. Alex knew more than anyone about what Olivia had seen, the ways she had suffered, particularly in the last three years; Tucker’s argument, the line that would now be pursued by Public Integrity, must make sense to her. It hit Olivia, the real meaning of Trevor Langan’s presence in this cell, on this bench beside her: Alex thought Olivia capable of mutilating a man and taking his life out of misplaced fear.

“… how arraignment works,” Trevor Langan continued smoothly. Olivia stared at him, realizing her humiliation had only just begun. Langan hardly had time to get another word in before her wrists were cuffed together once again, before she was being steered down the winding, nauseating passageways to the holding cell—-the goddamn holding cell, she didn’t want to think about it, she didn’t want to think about it—-outside Judge Ridenour’s courtroom.

***

Olivia’s eyes scanned the spectators as the court officer steered her to the chair next to Langan, but the gallery contained not a single familiar face. ADA Fritz from Public Integrity stood calm and quiet and centered, looking so much more respectable than smooth, oily Langan that Olivia wanted to run away, or collapse, or maybe that was just the fever.

She wrapped her arms around her torso. Alex thought she was guilty; she’d bought Langan for her, done her duty, and now she could get out of the way and just watch Olivia get her just desserts, relieved that this murderer was no longer her lover. Elliot was—-Elliot was working the case, probably, said the small rational part of Olivia’s brain. Investigating the Death Knights, who just then were piling into the gallery behind her. Already Munch, Warner, the Captain would have given up on her, but Elliot would still be searching.

Her warm thoughts of her partner were interrupted when Fritz requested remand. Langan was so quick on his feet that for a few sweet seconds Olivia felt relief, like she was in good hands. She was grateful, for those seconds, for Alex’s support, for the man whose skill had allowed so many nasty, relentless perps to walk before. He could do it again.

But even Langan was no match for Fritz’s simple truth. There was nothing spurious about positive DNA identification. Olivia saw the decision in Ridenour’s eyes before he even lifted his gavel. And really, Olivia considered, he was right. Her mouth opened and closed, soundless, helpless. She had no family whatsoever, just blood on her hands and a motorcycle gang more than ready to kill her.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Alex saw only Trevor Langan’s retreating back. She hurried up to grab his elbow, oblivious to the rush of lawyers and bikers streaming past them. “Where is she?”

Trevor turned. “Quarter of a million.”

“Ridenour? He—-what?”

“ROR was a long shot, Alex. We knew that going in.” Trevor looked tired. Alex didn’t want to notice that—-Trevor was probably Olivia’s best hope—-but she did. His shoulders sagged beneath the crisp lines of his suit.

Alex swallowed. “What happens now?”

“I’ve talked to people. I’ll talk to some more. She’ll spend a night or two at Rikers, but I’ll—-”

“She can’t.”

“I’m doing everything I can—-”

“No. Trevor. You aren’t thinking about this clearly. She’s a cop, and, and, and—-”

Once again, Alex’s mind flooded with terrifying images. Some perp from the past recognizing Liv on the bus to Rikers. Olivia chained and helpless as she entered the prison, not undercover, no rescue and no recourse, unable to suppress the traumatic flashbacks that would show her cellmates how vulnerable she was. Some psychotic biker chick holding a strip of contraband metal to Olivia’s throat—-

Langan was staring at her, with his head at an odd angle; she realized it might be the first time he had seen her at a loss for words. Alex shook her head, trying to clear the horror. “She can’t go to Rikers. That’s why I needed you to represent her, so this didn’t happen!” When she heard her voice echo off the vaulted ceiling, she glanced around to see if anyone was listening, but the hallway seemed to have cleared around them.

Trevor’s grey eyes looked tired, too. “What do you want me to do?”

Alex couldn’t even think straight. “When’s the next bus? When are they taking her?”

“Supposed to leave at five.” Trevor’s eyes were still searching her, and she guessed he had just put it all together—-Alex’s panic was too severe to be justified by even the closest friendship. She and Olivia had tried to keep it in the closet—it was just easier, at work, if no one knew who didn’t have to—but right now Alex didn’t care.

“Give me an hour or two,” she said, thinking through her finances and assets. “Maybe I can free up—-”

Langan had picked up his phone. “Hello, Trevor Langan—-Detective Stabler, what’s up?”

Alex paced a few steps away, trying not to overhear. Elliot. Who could do more for Olivia now than Alex could. Her hands were tied as a prosecutor. Or maybe Elliot just had more courage than she—-after all, a suspect was in custody, and technically SVU shouldn’t be investigating anymore. But Olivia’s dogged partner was still at it. Probably the whole squad was.

“Yeah, I guess word travels fast … Really? Sure, sure, of course. You should get over here right away … Yeah. Ten minutes.” Langan slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket.

Alex turned. “Is Elliot—-”

“Oh, crap,” said Trevor. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”

Alex didn’t care. “But is everything—-”

“Yes, Alex. Someone’s taking care of it. You don’t have to worry.”

“She won’t have to spend the night there?”

“If he hurries, she won’t go there at all.”

Alex nodded, and for a few seconds she couldn’t stop nodding. Trevor looked curiously at her, and she composed herself enough to still the movement. Her helplessness had started to scream in her ears: the woman she loved was in danger, her life on the line—-no safer than she would have been pursuing an armed killer—-and Alex could do nothing, nothing, nothing to help her, nothing to save her. She wanted her lover in her arms, but really, the truth, though she knew it was twisted, was that Alex wanted Olivia to comfort her—-wanted Olivia to hold her in her arms and assure her that it would be all right.


	4. Chapter 4

In her partner’s car, Olivia ran her fingers over the ailing upholstery, still numb with relief that she had been spared Rikers for a few more days, a few more weeks. She’d be spending the rest of her life there, or upstate, that much seemed clear; the truth sounded improbable even to her own ears, and she didn’t know how Trevor Langan could explain her DNA away when even Melinda had no rational explanation for how it found its way to the murder weapon. But the hours holding herself on high alert behind bars made even a few hours on her own couch, in her own bed, sound sweet. They drove several miles in silence, Olivia savoring even the crosstown traffic.

“You all right?” Elliot threw a glance sideways at her.

“Still sick,” she said.

“You want to call Alex?”

“She knows.” Olivia looked out the window. “Everyone knows.” She tried not to give it too much thought. Alex had said more than once that Olivia took her commitment to the job too far. It only made sense that Alex would now think she had committed murder.

Elliot’s phone rang at that moment. “Stabler.” His eyes widened. “Holy shit. No, I’m just taking her home. Yeah, I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He hung up. “Cragen. They got a lead on the guy in the picture. Fin’s headed out there already.”

“I’ll come with you.” The words were out of Olivia’s mouth before she’d even thought about them.

“You will not.” Elliot braked sharply in front of her building. “You got enough trouble already. And you could use some sleep.”

Olivia looked at the set of his jaw, the laser-beam focus of his eyes out the windshield.

“Call me when you get upstairs,” he said firmly. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

***

Hours later, she woke to the brassy sound of her phone. She picked it up before she was fully conscious, and only half-understood what had happened in New Jersey. They were headed to the guy’s house now. Elliot promised she’d be the first to hear of any news, and she leaned against the curtain as they hung up. The silence was a gift, and then the sound of a key in the lock nearly made her jump out of her skin. She jerked her head in the direction of the doorway.

Alex slipped inside, closing the door gently behind her. She was impeccably groomed as usual, but looked tired and wary and, Olivia swore, thinner than she had a mere few days before. She let her briefcase fall to the floor and her hands twitched, as if they no longer knew what to do with themselves. “Liv …”

“Yeah. Still me.”

“Are you—-are you …” She floundered and went silent, still staring.

Olivia was used to a hyperarticulate Alex; even in bed she tended to talk dirty, describing in a sweet, strained voice every sensation that passed through her body, what she planned to do to Olivia next, silent only when her mouth was otherwise occupied. This tongue-tied Alex frightened her. She hadn’t even seen Alex in a month, not like this, not in her apartment like a lover, her lover. And now, like this—-she didn’t want Alex to see her like this, she didn’t want anyone to. She swayed slightly on her feet and put her hand to the doorframe to steady herself.

“Liv!” Alex rushed forward and threw her arms around her. Both women were shocked to feel Olivia trembling, as if her flesh were about to shatter.

“It’s okay,” Alex whispered, alarmed, rubbing Olivia’s shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” said Olivia. “Not going to be.”

They locked eyes, and then Olivia kissed the ADA messily, voraciously. Barely realizing what she was doing, Alex grasped her closer, kissing back with equal fervor. The last month seemed to melt away between their bodies, under the harsh bursts of Olivia’s breath. Olivia pulled Alex’s hand to her breast. “Please,” she gasped. “Please.”

Alex kneaded the breast gently, loving its solidity, loving Olivia; Olivia murmured and bit at Alex’s earlobe and sucked at her throat and pushed at her fingers, urging them rougher, faster. Alex pulled at Olivia’s layers of clothing, sliding the cardigan from her shoulders, the tank top over her head, unclasping her bra, twisting her nipple and then flicking it furiously with her tongue, earning a guttural moan from Olivia. As the other breast was receiving the same treatment, Olivia tangled a hand in Alex’s hair and pulled her up for another hungry kiss, steering them both towards the bedroom as she did so.

Olivia’s quilts and sheets were haphazardly strewn over the bed, as usual, but that didn’t stop her from pulling Alex down to the mattress with her, biting at her lover’s lip while tugging her skirt and jacket off and pulling at the buttons of her blouse, licking her jawline. Her bare skin was flushed with fever and arousal. “Alex,” she murmured. “I need you. Please.”

Alex kissed the undersides of Olivia’s breasts—-it flashed across her mind how much she’d missed them, missed this—-and delivered a light bite to each nipple, struggling with the fly on Olivia’s dirty jeans. Olivia helped her, easing the pants over her hips and kicking them aside. Alex tried to tease her, running a slow finger under the waistband of her boyshorts, but Olivia only whined and ground her pelvis against Alex’s leg once, twice, Alex’s hand trapped between them. “Please.”

The urgency in her voice startled Alex this time, made her wonder dimly if perhaps this was all a bad idea, but she was so soaked and aroused herself that she thought leaving Olivia unsatisfied could only be another cruelty. Olivia had suffered enough today. She tugged Olivia’s wet panties off and thrust two fingers roughly inside her, then three. Olivia moaned her relief at the third finger and pushed against Alex’s hand, against Alex’s fingertips curling at her g-spot, exhaling another cry when her lover’s thumb met her clit.

Still in her stockings, Alex pressed herself down on Olivia’s thigh as she thrust into her hard and steady, kissing Olivia’s neck and shoulders, circling her thumb on Olivia’s swollen clit. “Yeah,” Olivia managed to gasp, reaching a hand out for Alex but missing and seizing the sheets in her fist. “Oh god, Alex, oh …”

And Olivia bucked and wailed and clenched around Alex’s fingers. Tremors sliced through her body; her eyes were closed and her expression was fierce and beautiful and thrilled and pained. Holding her girlfriend steady, Alex ground herself harder on Olivia’s thigh. It took only a bit more pressure to make her ripple with her own sympathetic orgasm. She rode it out, watching the stunning woman below her.

As Olivia’s shudders finally slowed, her molten dark eyes flew open. Her lashes were wet, her face patterned with shock. “Baby,” Alex panted, leaning down to kiss her.

Liv didn’t respond. Instead, she rolled over onto her side. She pushed Alex’s hand from inside her; Alex looked at her left hand, curled and damp on the sheets, and then at the beautiful flesh of Olivia’s back. Then Alex heard a choked sound, and Olivia’s body began to shake with sobs.

“Hey,” said Alex, crawling over to spoon Olivia, panties and stockings soaked through and her blouse buttoned halfway. “I’m here.”

“No,” Olivia said.

“Liv?”

“You have to go.”

“What?”

“Go. Home.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Liv,” Alex said, snaking an arm around her lover’s waist. “You’re sick and you’re exhausted and you’ve had the worst day I can imagine and you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Alex, you have to leave.”

“Stop it, Liv.”

“I’ll be okay. I don’t need anything.”

“So what was this?” Alex said. She pushed herself away from Olivia’s body. “Let’s just fuck and then it’s time to go home? That’s what I am now?”

Olivia rolled over, her face registering a new shock as she met the sudden fury in Alex’s eyes. “No.”

“You try to destroy my career behind my back, you won’t talk to me for a goddamn month, and now you just use me for whatever the hell that was and kick me out of your house?”

“Alex, it’s not that. It’s the opposite of that.” Alex had slid from the bed and was pacing; Olivia sat up, tracking her lover’s movements with her eyes.

“I got you a goddamn lawyer, I am here because I love you, and you can’t even—-”

“I am not bringing you down with me!”

“What?” Alex stopped at the unexpected words.

“However this goes, and you know how it’s going to go, my career is over, everything’s over. Your career doesn’t have to be.”

Alex stared. “You’re not making any sense, Liv.”

“I make perfect sense.” Olivia’s cheeks and eyes were bright. “You need to get out before anyone knows about us. Whoever this is, Brady Harrison or whoever, he’s taken SVU from me already. I won’t let him take anything from you.”

“You’re not—-Harrison? What are you talking about?”

“The Rohypnol Rapist, you remember, like, six or seven years ago. He’s out, Elliot said he’s had some private dick following me.”

Alex’s pulse quickened. “Does Trevor know?”

“Alex, imagine if you were the one prosecuting this case. You have the DNA. So you just keep driving that home. Nothing else will matter.”

Alex knew it was true. She had thought about it a dozen times, and had in the back of her mind been wondering, all day, about Trevor’s strategy. She hated that Olivia could know that about her. “No …”

“No one’s going to believe me, you don’t even believe me. I am a murderer, Alex. And you can’t let the rest of your career get attached to this. So go.”

“Olivia, I believe you—-”

“Then you’ll look like an idiot,” she said, her voice choked and thick. “Because no jury is going to believe me. And you can’t be a DA who’s visiting her—-her dirty cop psychotic killer lesbian lover at Bedford Hills.”

Olivia turned her bare back to Alex. Alex stared at her neck, her still-mussed hair, and placed both hands on Olivia’s shoulders. Olivia didn’t respond, or loosen her muscles, or move.

They stayed still like this for a few seconds, and then Olivia slid from under Alex’s hands, gathered Alex’s discarded skirt and jacket, and handed them to her silently. Alex dressed, her eyes fixed on Olivia as she did so. Olivia looked away.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex couldn’t sleep.

She had been up for hours, watching the reflections on her ceiling of lights from the street. Honks and shouts bounced restlessly up through her open window. Although she was exhausted, the events of the last two days had left her wired and, while she had been doing it steadily for the last month, she once again felt unsettled sleeping alone.

She gave the empty left side of the bed only one quick glance, and her mind began to flicker with memories of Olivia tying her wrists to the bars of the headboard (Alex wouldn’t have minded something stronger, but Olivia had refused even to bring handcuffs into the bedroom for the last year and a half), of Olivia kissing her way down her body, of Olivia making eye contact from between Alex’s legs while she licked at her labia, agonizingly slow. Now Alex twitched, and began to throb, and she slipped her hand into her wet underpants—maybe this would help her relax.

But a series of sirens came rushing down the street, ambulance after ambulance, car after car, and up from the recesses of Alex’s mind rose a question.

 _What if Olivia did it?_

She sat up in a rush.

She had been so busy trying to protect Olivia that this question had been nowhere near the surface. Now the notion crawled all over her skin, over all the places that Olivia had touched and then just as quickly rejected.

There was this man now, Brady Harrison. When Alex had left Olivia, feeling shredded and desperate, she’d looked him up as any diligent prosecutor would do. She had looked back over his case, a slam dunk for Abbie Carmichael at the time—Harrison had been done in by his carelessness, his own stupid mistakes. Sentenced to fifteen years for his crimes (Alex herself would have pushed for more), paroled after nine. He had been out of prison for a week and a half. Alex had even telephoned his parole officer, a taciturn man named Jeremy Patchett, but her lawyerly weaseling had resulted in a frustrating paucity of information: Harrison was living in a halfway house in Inwood, he’d checked in on time every night, still hadn’t found a job but really what did he expect. Alex had hung up with Patchett annoyed and frightened. Harrison sounded dumb, hardly enough of a strategist to stage a frame-up with dozens of stakeholders, to procure a vial of Olivia’s blood without her knowledge.

 _You can’t be visiting your dirty cop psychotic killer lesbian lover at Bedford Hills._

Alex barely had time to grab the wastebasket beside her desk before she threw up.

If she really loved Olivia, shouldn’t she stand by her even when she had killed a man? But if she were really a prosecutor, on the side of the law and seeking justice for victims—even victims as hateful as this Clyde Vandyne seemed to be—shouldn’t she be able to resist falling into bed with a murderer? And if Olivia hadn’t done it at all, what kind of a person was Alex for even thinking it?

Alex was sure that Olivia hadn’t planned this, but if indeed she had acted out of posttraumatic stress, why hadn’t Trevor pleaded self-defense? Maybe he would—Alex had never asked him about his strategy, and she and Olivia hadn’t exactly done a lot of talking. But he would find it difficult to argue when Fritz displayed photographs of the Tasered and castrated corpse.

Alex dry-heaved again, and then again. She imagined Olivia holding back her hair and kissing between her shoulder blades, as she had done while seeing Alex through dozens of days of illness over the last two years, and soon she was on the floor, clutching her knees and leaning against the bedside table, so shocked and scared and empty and aching that she didn’t even hear the phone ring. She was certain she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

Officer Desmond Callahan nodded a little to Olivia as he exited the bathroom for the third time in as many hours, his long, young face looking a bit sheepish beneath his hat. He was a rookie and clearly, between Detective Stabler’s instructions and the rumors swirling at 1 PP, he had no idea what to think of Detective Benson. She could have laughed, if she’d felt like it.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m right downstairs. If you need anything.”

He took a minute to wait for her to answer, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. He closed the door gently behind him, and Olivia waited until she heard the elevator ding before she got up and shifted the deadbolt and slid the chain lock into place. She was flummoxed by Elliot’s logic in ordering a protective detail—why would a man who had managed so impeccably to frame her bother trying to do her physical harm?—but Callahan and his predecessor, Officer Lydia Damrosch, were easy enough to handle, sweet rookie kids slightly awestruck to find themselves so close to the scandal that was rocking the NYPD, and Olivia would do anything to ease the mind of the one person still willing to fight for her. On top of that, it had been years since she hadn’t had a gun in easy reach, and it was a relief to know that there was a weapon, even in someone else’s hands, that could be readily used in her defense.

Oh, hell. She was terrified. The last two days had been inconceivable enough that any threat seemed credible, and Olivia was so accustomed to being a cop that she had no idea how civilians negotiated danger. It flashed across her mind that she should ask Alex, and then just as quickly came the response that if Alex had anything to say to her, anything at all, she would have answered her call last night.

For a split second, the emptiness of her apartment threatened to swallow her whole. Comparing it to the damp cell in the Tombs, to the prospect of the rest of her life crowded into a ten-by-ten room, was cold but necessary comfort.

Exhaling a sigh, Olivia settled herself back on the couch and reopened the well-thumbed case file, which John Munch had visited her to deliver late last night. “We could all use your eyes on this,” Munch had said evenly. Olivia understood the risk he was taking for her, that presumably all of the squad, including Cragen, must have agreed to it, and she’d tried to stop her hands from shaking as she took it from him.

Sadly, she was finding it didn’t tell her much. Elliot and Fin’s current runaround—Lawrence Jasinski, the Death Knights’ attempt on Brady Harrison’s life—was all strictly off the record, the official file stopping dead after her arrest. But for the DNA, the case against her was circumstantial, nothing a lawyer like Trevor Langan wouldn’t have been able to pick apart.

She jumped at another knock at the door. “Sorry,” Callahan’s voice said softly from the hallway. “I, uh …”

Chuckling with relief, Olivia released the locks to allow the young officer entrance. “Christ, Callahan,” she said.

He shrugged. “Lot of coffee.”

“You learn,” she said, smiling. “After your first couple stakeouts, you’ll figure out what you can drink. Don’t worry.”

All she got was a confused look in return. Callahan slipped into the bathroom as the smile slipped from Olivia’s face. She’d thought she was a veteran on the force talking to a young, impressionable rookie. She’d forgotten, for a second, that she was a murderer.

Olivia locked the door behind Callahan as he left, then ducked into her room to check her cell phone, almost reflexively. Nothing. Still nothing. She tossed the phone aside and returned to the sofa.

The fourth nightmare last night had been the worst, Lowell Harris hurling her battered, naked body against the rusty cell door in the Tombs, forcing himself against her and into her as the bars scraped at her back, then tossing her to the floor and pitching her from slumber. Panicked, sweating, not fully awake or coherent, she had called Alex without even a second of forethought, and when she was shifted to voice mail she spent thirty seconds trying to regain control of her breath before sobbing, “I’m sorry,” and hurling the phone to the floor as though it had rejected her.

Olivia hadn’t heard from Elliot since the previous evening; she could only assume that meant he was on the trail of a promising lead, which made her hopeful in spite of herself. Munch, delivering the file, had hinted as much himself last night—they were investigating a lab, he’d promised, and she would know as soon as they knew more. She could only assume that Munch’s delivery of the file had Cragen’s tacit approval, though of course he could never have expressed it. Fin had been with Elliot through the grueling searches of the past day, and Munch seemed to think that even Melinda Warner, Melinda who had first brought Olivia under suspicion (no, that wasn’t fair, Olivia chided herself—the test results were as they were), had discovered something that could help Olivia’s case.

Maybe.

But her thoughts flew magnetically back to Alex, like iron filings.

Since Olivia told her about Sealview, Alex had been solicitous about her lover’s boundaries, stopping if Olivia hesitated, gone if Olivia said go. Their arguments at work remained fierce, culminating in the Sherman case, but Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if some of the energy between them had transferred to their professional lives. She was right, she knew, to keep Alex out of all this—she couldn’t bear the thought of living out her life in prison knowing that Alex had needlessly undercut her future for Olivia’s sake—but Olivia wished that just for a few more minutes, just for last night or just for today, she could hear her lover’s voice, feel the length of Alex against her. Just another night or two when she would have some buffer against her nightmares. A night or two when she wouldn’t have to fight on her own.

Olivia was so sick, and so tired.

So tired.

She forced herself to open the case file again, leaning it against her knees, in the hope of unearthing some relevant detail that her colleagues had missed.

Another knock on the door interrupted her. “Callahan!” she shouted in exasperation just as, in the other room, her phone began to ring.


	7. Chapter 7

“Cabot.” Alex’s phone had been ringing off the hook since noon, and she had twenty minutes before she had to be in court.

“Alex. It’s Melinda Warner.”

 _Olivia is not in the morgue. Olivia is not in the morgue._ Alex controlled her breath. “Hi, Melinda. What’s going on?”

“Listen, Elliot thought you might want an update on Olivia’s case. He said I should give you a call.”

“What’s happening?”

“Well, I’ve figured out—”

“Melinda. _Is she all right_?”

“Olivia is fine,” the medical examiner said evenly.

“Why are you calling?”

Melinda took a hissing breath. “Elliot seemed to think,” she said calmly, “that you had a vested interest in this case. So I am calling at his request, as a favor to Olivia. But I have had quite enough of being the whipping girl for this case. Stabler, Tutuola, Munch, even Cragen seem to think this is my fault, and I do not need it from you as well. I am a scientist, and I did not put Olivia’s DNA on that knife.”

“You mean somebody did?” Alex said, freezing in the process of stuffing two files into her briefcase.

“Yes. Somebody did.”

As Alex absorbed the details of Melinda’s explanation, she grew dizzy. Olivia had been framed. Melinda Warner could prove it. Trevor Langan could call Melinda Warner to the stand—her precision never failed to reel in a jury. She could hardly absorb it.

 _You thought Olivia could have done it_ , she reminded herself. _You thought it was her blood._ “Olivia,” she whispered aloud, unable to control the emotion in her voice.

To Alex’s surprise, Melinda chuckled. “It is true, isn’t it?” she said. “The two of you have certainly kept it quiet. Even when Elliot asked me to call you, I thought it was for the sake of professional interest.”

Alex laughed shakily. “I also have a professional interest.” The number of people Alex had outed them to in the last two days … Olivia would have her head. If she ever spoke to Alex again.

“I don’t know if we’re out of the woods completely,” Melinda said. “I can testify to the existence of the procedure, and the lack of methylation, but that’s not going to tell us anything definitive.” There was a knock on Alex’s door, and Jack McCoy peered in, the fingers of one hand spread as he indicated the clock on her wall. Alex nodded to him. “The process is unfamiliar here. Inconceivable. You’re going to need—”

“I’m not Olivia’s attorney.” Alex’s cellphone began to buzz on her desk.

“Well, her attorney is going to need a credible witness to the procedure or at the very least—”

“Melinda, that’s my other phone,” said Alex.

The medical examiner’s cool voice said, “All right.”

“No—thank you. Thank you for telling me. I’m so grateful to know.”

“And I’ll keep any information I have gleaned from this conversation under my hat,” said Melinda, sounding both pleased and miffed. Alex didn’t even say goodbye, just hung up the receiver as she said into her cellphone, “Cabot,” trying to buckle her briefcase as she did so.

“She’s all right, Alex,” said Elliot Stabler’s voice. “We’ve got him.”

“You what?” Just then Jack McCoy opened her door again. She held up one finger, trying to shrug her blazer back on.

“He came after Liv, he was at her place. She—”

“That fucking bastard!” Alex cried. Jack McCoy’s eyebrows shot up, and Alex looked down in contrition.

“He put a uni in critical condition, we’re still waiting to hear,” Elliot said.

“Alex, we’ve got to go.” Jack left no room for argument. Alex gathered her briefcase and followed her superior down the hallway, still clasping the phone to her ear.

“But Olivia—”

“Yeah, she’s all right. I’ve got her right here with me. Here, Liv.”

Alex heard scrabbling in the background just as she and McCoy reached Trial Part 44. “Liv?” she said. “Olivia?”

“Alex?” Olivia’s voice was hoarse.

“Baby, I—”

Jack McCoy pulled the phone from Alex’s hand and ended the call. “Jack,” said Alex, her eyes blazing.

“We’re late, Ms. Cabot,” he said crisply. “Your personal life belongs outside of this courtroom.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“If that were so, you wouldn’t be here!” he answered. “And I would appreciate it if your focus were with the people of the state of New York, who would themselves appreciate it if we were able to keep a rapist and murderer like Jonas Easton off the streets!”

It only took a quick glance at the crime scene photos for Alex to realize she needed her head in the game again. Jonas Easton, who had been Fin and Munch’s collar, had already taken two women’s lives. She rose for Judge Preston, struggling in the whirlwind of her fear and her confusion and her relief.


	8. Chapter 8

The squad sweated Joseph Soltice out in the interrogation room for a few more hours (with Fin taking the lead after Olivia barely stopped Elliot from crushing the doctor’s head against the table), but it seemed that the man was disturbingly correct: there was no law against what he did.

He shot Olivia a light smirk over his shoulder as he walked out alone, as if there had been some sort of competition between them. Olivia shuddered and turned back to the ream of DD5s. Cragen had given her a week of desk duty, which was frustrating but, even Olivia had to recognize, probably for the best. There would be time for the scandal to clear, for word of her innocence to permeate deeply enough into the NYPD that she wouldn’t have to negotiate some rookie’s distrust at a crime scene. Cragen had stood by her. She wasn’t about to complain.

“Might be legal now,” Fin said, “but it’s only gonna be so long before someone knows it’s tearing crime investigations apart. It ain’t gonna be legal for long.”

“And then what?” said Munch. “I can name a number of other things that are illegal. Cocaine, for example. Child pornography. Pederasty. And has that made our jobs any easier, my friends?”

“For God’s sake,” said Elliot, glancing uneasily at Olivia, “shut up.”

Olivia stayed out of the conversation. The question of Joseph Soltice seemed milky, floating and shifting before her eyes. Callahan, that sweet kid, was dead, Damrosch coming to take her shift and finding him Tasered and bloody and barely breathing; Elliot had ignored the cruiser in his rush to reach his partner. Only an hour ago they had gotten word from Callahan’s commanding officer, whose voice shook as he described the young man’s end.

And so Brady Harrison was behind bars again. Normally Olivia felt relief when she knew justice would be served, but now it seemed meaningless. What would happen when he got out this time? When one of a hundred other perps she had helped to put away was released, driven to vengefulness from the horrors of prison, horrors Olivia knew firsthand? When there was no partner to come to her rescue, no defense attorney oiling in on a trail of money? When Olivia was alone?

Cragen laid a hand on her shoulder on his way out. “Liv, take a day or two if you need, all right?”

“Awww, right after my suspension?” Olivia said, forcing a smile. Elliot, Fin, and Munch all pretended to laugh, which almost made Olivia’s smile genuine. “I appreciate it, Cap, but it’s good to be back.”

“Make sure you get some rest, Detective. You take care.” Cragen gave her one more searching look over his shoulder, then shrugged his coat on as he headed down the hall.

Olivia filled out the forms as if hypnotized, coming out of autopilot only to say goodnight to Munch and Fin. They invited her for a beer, tentatively, but Olivia requested a rain check. She wanted to be at her desk, doing her job.

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Almost midnight.” Elliot said.

“Yep.”

“Can I give you a lift?”

She cracked the lightest of smiles. “I got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Liv—”

“El, I’m fine.”

“Where have I heard that one before?” He rolled his eyes.

“Have I thanked you?”

Elliot looked momentarily fazed. He leaned against the wall beside her desk, swallowing. “Yeah. You have.”

Olivia was fairly sure she hadn’t. “Okay,” she said.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

“You go. How long’s it been since you saw Kathy?”

Olivia didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to be the Olivia who had been caught defenseless in her own apartment, who had come within inches of having a second mangled body on her hands. (Harrison was on 24-hour suicide watch until his trial, a thought that offered her no comfort.) She wanted to be Detective Olivia Benson, the woman who found justice, could make something real and productive from her fury.

“She understood,” said Elliot. Olivia doubted that, and gratitude seeped from her every pore. What a stroke of fortune that this man was her best friend. Another cop victimized by Joseph Soltice’s lab might not have been so lucky.

“Go home to her, El. And give her my love.”

“You sure you’re all right?” he said, his brow still furrowed in that familiar look of concern.

“I will be.”

He squeezed her shoulders for just a second before exiting the squad room, leaving Olivia alone.

For another fifteen or twenty minutes, she continued diligently with the forms. But she was tired, tired all the way through her bones, and the words began to blur before her eyes.

She didn’t want to go home.

Glancing around the precinct, Olivia heaved her body from the desk and let herself into the crib. She collapsed onto the bottom bunk, facing the wall. A few hours of sleep, she thought, would do her good before she got back to work.

But sleep didn’t come. Her mind could only retrace the events of the past two days, refusing to let them go.

While she stared at an ant traversing a crack in the paint, Olivia heard the gentle click of the door opening behind her. “Go home, El,” she said.

“He did.”

Olivia felt her throat freeze up. She didn’t answer, didn’t turn.

“Can I come in?”

With her face still to the wall, knowing Alex couldn’t see, Olivia nodded. She heard her girlfriend’s footsteps come closer, could feel her shadow falling across the bunk.

“Olivia?”

Olivia didn’t answer.

“You’re all right?” Alex said, uncertainly.

Olivia shrugged.

Alex was quiet for a moment. Olivia heard a sound like a spike heel scraping on the floor, and then Alex’s shadow seemed to loom a few inches shorter.

“May I?”

Olivia nodded again, stiffly and invisibly. Alex slid onto the bunk behind her, hip to Olivia’s hip, knee to knee, her breasts folding naturally against Olivia’s spine. Alex kissed the nape of Olivia’s neck, and for a few minutes they breathed together, both staring, Olivia thought, at the cheap, chipping taupe paint on the wall before them. Alex’s arm came around her, and Olivia didn’t push it away.

Then, quite suddenly, she felt the gentle heaving of Alex’s ribcage against hers and heard her voice break.

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t—” Alex cried softly. “Oh, Liv, I was so scared. I was so scared.”

Wavering between indignance and compassion, Olivia grasped Alex’s hand to her chest. This seemed to cause the ADA a fresh wave of tears, and Olivia bit her lip as she felt them fall against her hair, against her neck. “I almost lost you,” Alex wept. She quivered along the length of Olivia’s body as she cried; the vibrations shook Olivia. “That bastard almost made me lose you. I can’t, Liv—if you were—I love you so much, Liv.”

Olivia kept Alex’s hand loosely in hers, doing nothing with it. Alex scrabbled to hold onto Olivia’s passive fingers.

Then, softer, “I still could lose you, couldn’t I?”

Olivia swallowed. It hurt.

“Look at me, Liv. Please look at me.”

Olivia rolled over to meet blue eyes now rimmed with red. She dropped her gaze almost immediately.

“Oh,” said Alex blankly. Shouts rose from the street, but they sounded like they came from drunk rabble-rousers, not people in danger, and Olivia didn’t stir. “Liv?”

Alex put a hand beneath Olivia’s chin and kissed her firmly, trying to remember everything she could about her lover, about her lips, her tongue, the inside of her mouth. Their lips worked each other’s gently, and Alex could taste Olivia’s exhaustion, the sweat and fear and dirt of the last two days. Her core twisted with the force of it. She pulled back and let her hand run gently over Olivia’s neck and shoulder, down her arm, coming to rest on her hip.

“What can I do?” Alex said.

“Mmm?”

“I don’t want to lose you.” Alex was trying to keep her voice steady, but Olivia could hear it shake. She brought her fingers up to Alex’s face, catching a tear on her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, the swell of her trembling lips. She slid two fingers into Alex’s mouth, between her teeth, and felt her breath quicken. It was so quiet now, in the crib, in the station, outside, like all the city had stilled and come to rest here between them.

“Stay,” Olivia whispered.


End file.
